**Dark Days**
Like any girl her age, Emily had dreams—finishing school, studying medicine at university, finding true love. At seventeen, who doesn’t dream? But not all dreams come true. Why? If only she knew.
Her mother, Margaret, raised her alone. Like Emily, Margaret had once fallen for a charming man, believing he was her happiness. But he turned out to be a gambler. Small wins only fueled his recklessness, while losses buried him in debt. To settle what he owed, he got involved with criminals. Caught on his first job, he landed in prison—where he either died or was helped along. One day, two thugs showed up at Margaret’s door, demanding she pay his debts. Terrified, she handed over her flat and fled with two-year-old Emily, hoping they’d leave her alone.
They settled in a small Devon town, where Margaret rented a room from a widowed Cornishman named Thomas. In exchange for board, she cooked, cleaned, and helped tend his garden. On good market days, he gave her extra for clothes or small treats. She knew where it was heading. When he proposed, she accepted—he was twice her age, balding, and rough, but what choice did she have? He promised the house would be hers when he died. Those years dragged, but she endured.
When Thomas passed, Margaret finally breathed. Now she and Emily had a home.
Emily grew into a beauty—olive skin, hazel eyes, full lips, dark curls. Men turned their heads, and Margaret worried. She raised Emily strictly, fearing she’d repeat her mistakes. *”With your looks, you hold all the cards,”* she’d say. *”Choose a man for his character, not his charm.”* She warned her about fleeting summer romances with tourists: *”They’ll use you, then leave you broken.”* But at seventeen, who listens?
Then came Oliver, a London student visiting relatives. Smitten, he proposed, boasting of his family’s wealth—his father’s business, their Kensington townhouse. Margaret wasn’t fooled. *”If you’re serious, come back in a year after she finishes school. Until then, keep your hands off her.”* Privately, she hoped this was Emily’s ticket out. Oliver agreed, calling and writing faithfully.
A year later, he returned with his parents. They saw Emily’s beauty but doubted her pedigree. Still, they consented—*”A pretty wife is no embarrassment.”* The wedding was lavish. Margaret, overjoyed, begged Emily to wait before having children.
But Oliver’s father couldn’t resist Emily. One afternoon, while Oliver was away, he forced his way in. Emily fought, grabbing a heavy vase—cracking his skull. The police twisted her story: *”She planned this to inherit the business.”*
Four years in prison. A week later, Margaret’s heart gave out. The house, sold off by Thomas’s daughter.
Prison was hell for someone like Emily. To survive, she traded her beauty—using smuggled scissors to slash her cheek. The scar healed poorly, leaving her disfigured. No one looked twice now.
Upon release, she had nowhere to go. Oliver had divorced her; her home was gone. She lied about relatives in Manchester but knew she’d never find work there. Instead, she wandered a Dorset village at dusk, freezing, when an old Volvo pulled up.
*”New here? Need a place?”* said the driver—a priest, Father Michael. He took her home to his wife, Ruth, and their children. No questions, just kindness.
For a year, Emily helped Ruth, tutored their youngest, and sang in the parish choir. Father Michael arranged her medical school application, despite her record. *”Why help me?”* she asked.
*”Because someone must,”* he said.
She studied hard, her scar revised by a skilled surgeon. Graduating, she worked at a Manchester hospital. Years later, at a London conference, she ran into Oliver—haggard, begging. *”Father’s partners cheated me. Lost everything.”* She gave him what she had.
*”I loved you,”* he mumbled, vanishing into the Tube.
On the train home, Emily thought of Father Michael’s family—how they’d opened their hearts. Without prison, she’d never have known such kindness. Perhaps it was all meant to teach her forgiveness. At thirty, life stretched ahead. And now she knew—when darkness comes, someone always waits with light.
